Chapter Text
He should be fine. The plak tow had long since broken, and he was, physically, completely healthy.
But he wasn’t.
No matter how long he thought about it, how much he tried not to think about it, how many extra hours he meditated for, or how much he tried to suppress it, something troubled him. It was something that should not have troubled him, as he was in an altered state during the koon-ut-kal-if-fee, but it did none the less.
From the onset of his pon farr, he had only thought about T’pring superficially; would she choose to challenge him? Would he be able to survive against whoever she picked as her champion? And would he want to? And he did not project his lustful thoughts onto some woman on the ship, even nurse Chapel, who, he was unfortunately sure, would be glad to be the subject of them. No, he did not. There was but one person who his mind, in its stupor, considered attractive enough. And that was the person he had been in love with almost since he had met them. Captain James T. Kirk.
He would have told him, he really would have, it would be the logical thing to do, if he had been thinking about anyone else. If he had been thinking of anyone else at least a little bit non-stop for 2 days, he would have told the Captain, but as it was, he wasn’t sure he could keep his hands off him if he tried. He attempted to go on with life as normal, but then he realised something; there was no other solution, he would have to mutiny, but he would have to do it in a way that would merit a trip to the brig. So he did. He ordered Chekov to reroute to Vulcan.
But the Captain had realised almost immediately, of course. He had ordered Chekov to set course back to Altair IV. They went back and forth a few times, Spock strategically avoiding Kirk, but eventually Kirk cornered him. He came to his quarters. Spock then had no choice; if he did not tell the Captain, he would die, possibly taking multiple crew members with him, en route to Altair IV.
So he told him, albeit in a slightly roundabout way, what was happening to him, and, he should have expected it, he quickly set a course for Vulcan, and without prying too much.
His memories got slightly less reliable closer to the time they arrived on Vulcan, but there was one thing he remembered perfectly as always; the moment T’pring had chosen Jim as her champion, the terror that had crept into his chest as he realised he would likely kill his own Captain, friend, and the love of his life, and he begged T’pau to let him free, told her he did not know their customs and laws. He was relieved when T’pau agreed, and offered Jim an out. Only for his terror and sorrow to come crashing back down upon him when Jim refused. Of course Spock knew that he could never defeat Stonn, but for Jim to give his own life? That was a fate worse than death to him.
But during the fight, after he had lost control almost completely, there was some hitherto unknown, horrifying part of him, if it was even a part of him at all, that wrought pleasure from it; hurting Jim, and the miniscule, weak part of his mind that still had some sense in it was mortified, disgusted with himself that he could ever enjoy such an abhorrent act. This was what troubled him, he tried to tell himself that it was only the blood fever making him feel that way, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was still a part of him.
He was still in love with Kirk, still wanted to stay by his side forever, and protect him from any danger, but he couldn’t protect him from anything, if he himself was the threat. He was overwhelmed with emotion upon seeing Kirk alive for the first time, and still, after it had been weeks, he felt like holding him close and telling him that he loved him, that he would never hurt him ever again, but he knew he didn’t deserve it. He wanted to wrap Jim in his arms and never let him go again, now that he knew just how fragile he really was.